


Grapple

by Menirva



Series: Blend [3]
Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: D/s, M/M, Violence, collaring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-22 18:59:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/916878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Menirva/pseuds/Menirva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bane makes good on his promise to collar Barsad and take him outside. Barsad fights him as per his usual. John enjoys watching before he joins in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When it happens, it’s a struggle. It's such a fucking struggle that John thinks Barsad is going to wind up with another broken nose or worse, even. Because Barsad knows what Bane wants. Bane outright tells him what he is going to do to him right as he shoves Barsad to the floor, wrapping his thick forearm around his throat in a stranglehold to wrestle him into submission.

  
"I'm going to keep you in it all day, lamb. You're going to wear your pretty collar around your throat while we're out. You'll be my good lamb out there, too; you won't be able to forget it, not with its weight there keeping you bound to me."

When he growls out the words low against Barsad's ear, the man goes still, and John has to admit that he is pretty fucking impressed to see Barsad able to break the hold, to flip Bane over his shoulder where he lands on his back with a grunt, his head slamming into the hardwood.

Barsad is over him in an instant, faster than John has ever managed to be even with his training, practically spitting in his outrage. His fist comes up, clenched tight and prepared to slam into Bane's jaw. Bane growls in response, his hand coming up to take the force of the blow, to catch Barsad's fist in his palm.

Bane could crush his fingers then, snap each one in a vice grip, hobble Barsad’s skills until they healed, perhaps even impair them completely. John has seen the hold before, and during a particularly vicious training session with another league member he saw Bane do just that. But John also knows that, for how brutal their battles are, Bane never has and will never do anything to bring potential harm to Barsad’s graceful, skilled fingers. They're too precious to him.

Instead, he rolls with him on the ground, snarls when he grabs Barsad's shoulders and slams him against the wall enough to shock Barsad into stilling, straddling his hips easily to pin him down onto the carpeting of the living room.

"Enough, lamb."

Bane gets a growl in exchange for the firm gentle command. Barsad tries to snap forward and bite at him in his desperation, always his most feral when he knows the collar is coming because he knows that it is what makes him the most docile.

Bane has John fetch it and bring it over from its careful place on the bedroom table, secured in its box right beside his own. He likes when they’re both collared together, loves it, in fact, but it will be interesting to have it be just Barsad. He’s had it be just him tied before, had Bane whisper instructions into his ear, had him play with Barsad and tease him like he was in charge with him. The idea that it might be like that sends a thrill of anticipation through him.

He kneels down onto the carpeting beside them and holds out the collar for Bane. Barsad shoots him a deadly glare. It's not a look of betrayal. Even at his most wild Barsad doesn't really expect John to side with him in this against Bane. He never has, knowing that while John obeys Barsad, it is never a question that they both obey Bane above all else when it comes to their play, and John is a little grateful to have never been put into a situation where he has had to choose.  
   
As it is, when Barsad sees him holding out the collar for Bane, it takes so long for him to stop trying to claw at Bane's arms, decorating his forearms with thick scratches and drawing lines of blood from him. Bane doesn't budge, only nods his thanks to John. He teases Barsad about being a cat and it only angers him more. Bane flips him finally, keeps pressure on his shoulders until he has no hell in him left to give. His frustration wells out of him as a low whimper from the back of his throat.

"Are we done, lamb?" Bane asks him calmly, patiently. He dares to press a kiss to the back of Barsad's neck and gets a shudder from him rather them him trying to butt his head back. It’s a sign he’s starting to wear thin, his careful control over himself being pulled at from all ends until Bane can eventually make it snap, gather up the pieces left of Barsad and hold them close.

"I can't. You can't do this. Not _this_ ," Barsad finally says desperately, his voice muffled by the carpet as his cheek is pressed into it. Bane goes still at his tone because it's not a no, but at this point Barsad usually doesn't have any words in him and it's close enough for Bane to be concerned.

"Lamb?" He says the name questioningly, cautiously, his hand going from pinning his shoulder to running down his back slowly. "Is that no?"

Barsad stubbornly shakes his head at the question. John’s asked Bane before if he’s ever stopped their games with what has basically become their safe word of sorts, but he never says no. If they’ve stopped a game, it’s because Bane has decided that it’s too much for them both. It’s as if there’s something inside of Barsad that just can’t refuse Bane no matter how far he pushes him, or maybe it’s just that he’s so sure that he can handle anything dished out to him, anything at all, that nothing is ever ‘too much’ for him.

"It's not. It's not, just… It’s this. This stays here. You can't do this outside. They'll see. They’ll _see_ _me._ " Barsad whispers out the last part, and there's an embarrassment there that John almost never hears from Barsad who is always so shameless and brass in everything he does from his fighting to his fucking. "They'll _know_."

"Oh, lamb," Bane's voice is more tender when he slides his arms under him and rests his weight down on him knowing Barsad can take it even with his slighter frame. He hugs him even as he crushes him to the floor. "Are you truly so ashamed of it, of yourself?"

Barsad shakes his head again and his head turns on the floor, his neck craning so he can see Bane as he speaks in a voice is too quiet for John to hear when Bane leans in close to hear his words, but it makes Bane click his tongue in disapproval.

"Never, lamb; you are always so strong for me. Never weak. Never think that your desires make you weak."

Barsad clearly disagrees with Bane’s sentiment. He turns his head back and struggles under his hold more even while Bane murmurs into his ear, soft things unheard by John, but he can hear Barsad’s denial of them, how his teeth grit against them, and so he knows they have to be sweet assurances, something Barsad hates  and ‘doesn’t _need’_  when he’s unfettered.

“It DOES.” Barsad fights it viciously with his mouth and words when he can’t move his arms anymore. “I know—I know you accept that, me, but I can’t show _them_. It’s hard enough to keep their respect. Half of them already act like your lapdog.” He sounds bitter when he says it, clearly something he has hated for a long time.

Bane squeezes the back of his neck, gives him a small shake, “Do any of them matter, at all? Those who are important to us know the truth, that you are better, stronger than all of them, lamb. What they think does not matter, and you can and often have quickly put any fool into their place when they have thought otherwise.”

His hand goes from squeezing Barsad’s neck to stroking the curls of hair at its nape, damp from the sweat of their fight. He lets his words sink in before he asks again, “Is it a no, lamb?”

Barsad is struggling. The deep blue of his eyes shuttered out when he closes his eyes tightly. He doesn’t answer, not even after long moments of silence and that’s when they all know that it’s not a no.

Bane’s hands wrap firmly around Barsad’s throat. The tips of his fingers press into the tendons there lightly, a silent promise of what is going to come next, just as soon as Barsad is able to collect himself, to accept and give in, because, since it’s not no, Bane is going to keep him still and secured until he is settled enough to get his ‘yes’.

It’s a struggle. Barsad’s breathing comes out in as a low wheeze from the restriction around his throat. He’s too spent to fight physically anymore, and Bane has taken away his ability to fight effectively verbally. There is no sounding harsh and bitter when Bane’s hands are against one’s windpipe. He closes his eyes for a long time, all of the muscles in his body visibly tight as he tries to find it in himself to give in and break, to accept that Bane will always wait for it and never give in until he gets it.

He sounds shaky, choked, eyes opening and staring out into nothing when he finally answers, “Yours, y-your lamb.” 

“Mine.” Bane affirms it roughly, a growl against Barsad’s ear that makes his eyes close again tightly, a shiver of relief running through him even though his muscles are still as tight as the rope Bane so often binds them with. Bane finally takes the collar from his hands with a quiet thank you. John smiles a little and squeezes his fingers when they brush against his. It’s interesting to see this while he’s not on his knees, not already collared, too, or on his way there. 

There’s the soft jingle of the neatly engraved tag as Bane unbuckles it. When it reaches Barsad’s ears, he squirms, sucking in a sharp breath as Bane slowly wraps the leather around his throat, buckling it snugly. He tucks his fingers under it to check the tightness, to tug lightly and make Barsad nearly go limp on the carpet from the sudden acceptance, from his muscles loosening and his brain happily giving up, sliding into his headspace and putting himself fully in Bane’s hands.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Bane thumbs across his cheekbone affectionately, pulling a content sound from him. With a nod, John knows it’s ok to lean down to Barsad’s level and kiss the tip of his nose playfully, smiling a little at the little grin the action brings out of Barsad, like they’ve just shared some silly and wonderful secret.

“Will you bring me his scarf?” Bane asks, and John nods, pressing another little kiss to Barsad, this time against his lightly chapped lips before he pulls back and pushes himself up to stand. He comes back with the red scarf that Barsad carefully ties to their bedpost each night. Barsad certainly has more than one, but he seems to rotate them carefully in a way that John can’t even begin to understand. The one he’s currently using, though, is always the one tied to the bedpost.

When Bane takes it with a quiet thank you, Barsad squirms. Even in his current headspace, he isn’t completely settled with the idea, but now it isn’t anger or snarls or acting out. It’s an almost shy squirm, it’s the flush of red that John is beginning to see and can’t help but be delighted at because for once it’s not HIM.

Bane pulls Barsad up to sit, letting him adjust and settle before he pulls them each in for a kiss. When he takes the scarf, he lets Barsad see it clearly, threads the soft material between his fingers and smiles at how Barsad’s throat bobs from a nervous swallow before he slides it behind his neck. Bane uses it to tug Barsad playfully closer for more kisses, ones that have Barsad sighing and relaxing again, melting and fervently returning them as Bane peppers his lips and the corners of his mouth even as he secures the scarf around his neck, tying it as carefully as any rope he’s handled and concealing their secret away from prying eyes.

John can’t help but laugh quietly when Bane whispers a soft ‘mine’ against Barsad’s lips. There’s a light flush slowly creeping up the slighter man’s neck, peeking out from under the scarf. John slides behind him, wraps his arms snugly around his chest and kisses a slowly brightening ear.

“You’re blushing,” John whispers against the shell of his ear and smirks more when it gets a groan. “I bet you’re hard as fuck, too.” He can’t help but tease further. He knows he’ll pay for it later, but it’s so rare that it’s just Barsad being the only one bound up for Bane, and he’s going to enjoy it and whatever plans Bane has, knowing that Bane likes having him play, too, that he’ll only approve when he rubs his hand slowly down Barsad’s chest.

Barsad sighs and relaxes against him, trusts him. It’s always a little humbling, and more than a little scary, that Barsad is willing to extend the trust he puts in Bane over to him, as well. His fingers creep down the soft cotton of Barsad’s shirt, dipping under the hem and petting just under his stomach. It gets a soft, full-body shiver of response, Barsad’s tongue dipping out to lick his dry lips.

“You’re really beautiful like this,” John admits quietly against his ear. He can’t help it. Barsad would brush it off any other time, or tease him, but not like this, and that makes John say things that make him feel a bit silly after they’re blurted out until he sees the little upward curve to Barsad’s mouth. Then he just clears his throat and kisses his cheek before looking back to Bane.

“Ready to go?”

“Quite,” Bane agrees. His hand tousles through Barsad’s hair before he takes his hand, cupping his elbow securely as he pulls him up to stand and checks him over for injuries from the fighting. When his fingers press into a welt on Barsad’s chest and make him hiss, Bane lifts his shirt and makes sure it’s nothing serious, nothing that needs medical attention beyond the aspirin he coaxes Barsad into taking before they go out.

Then they both wrap an arm around Barsad’s waist, keeping him secure in the middle, an act he generally hates in public but now is just trying to keep as close to them both as possible, wanting their contact and touch.

“What shall we do today, then?” Bane asks, and John looks at him curiously as they walk down the hall of the apartment complex.

“What about training, or shouldn’t you be out watching over Talia?”

“You have been working hard without rest. Today it is time to take a brief break, let yourself relax. Talia has another entrusted to act as her guard today, which means we will have a rare day to spend as we please.”

“You planned this out well,” John realizes and squeezes Barsad’s side. Bane hadn’t planned to put Barsad in a position where his little secret could be discovered by other members of the league at all. He has planned a mini vacation for all three of them, and the idea is wonderful. Barsad seems surprised, and any other time he would probably protest the sudden break in procedure, but now he leans against Bane, and after some gentle prodding from them both about what he would like to do they settle on going to the market to explore and perhaps even surprise Talia with dinner.

John kind of loves the market. This is the fourth—or was it fifth?—apartment that they’ve been in since he’d left Gotham with them. Each has been in a different country with a different language. The league never seems to stay in one place for long, Talia is needed to make negotiations around the world, but wherever they seem to go there is always a market and they are all different but at the same time they have their similarities, the colors, the scents. He doesn't get to go often. It's usually Barsad and Talia who do the shopping because John is just too tired and overwhelmed after training to deal with the huge crowds and the hustle and bustle of it all. When he does go, though, he loves taking it in, all of the scents of spices out in the open stalls, the meats cooking, the different items being offered for sale in each area. He just tries not to look too much like a dumb American tourist during it.

It's fun to be able to explore it with them now. Barsad is quieter for it. He doesn't ever leave their side to look on his own like he would have otherwise, but it's clear he's enjoying himself, smiling more easily, laughing softly when John pulls him over to something of particular interest, or insists they need to get something for themselves or Talia. He lets them each put an arm around him at different points, and at times he even seeks it out with Bane on his own.

 As they look over different skeins of richly colored yarn, John feels Barsad's head suddenly leaning against his shoulder. It feels special, to know that Barsad specifically sought him out this time, wanting to be against him. He responds quietly by wrapping his arm around him, pointing out a few colors other than the red hues that Bane was currently looking through.

“Doing ok?” he asks softly, feeling Bane's attention turning away from the yarns and onto them.

“Three,” Barsad answers quietly, and it stuns John to realize that he's giving him a number just like he would Bane.

“That's good,” he answers after a moment, not wanting to fuck something up when Barsad is clearly doing great, “you're being really good.”

He gets a quiet hum of acknowledgment and his fingers sift into the piles of yarn, clearly enjoying squishing them between his fingers for a moment before he pulls out a rich blue ball of yarn.

“This one,” he says seriously, holding it out and pulling some money from his pocket to pay for it.

“Are you going to wear a _blue_ scarf, Barsad?” John asks incredulously, knowing that the yarn is obviously for Bane to knit with.

“It is for you. For gloves.”

“It's a little warm for gloves,” he argues quietly, but he can't help the smile pulling at his lips  when Bane takes the yarn without a word, putting it into their bag.

“Here it is, but who knows where we will end up next.”

“Are we leaving soon?” John asks curiously, and Bane nods.

“Our time here will be coming to a close quite shortly.”

It's weird that he doesn't even mind. He likes it here, but it's just a place, it's not home. He glances over at Bane who reaches to take his hand, squeezing his fingertips slightly before announcing that they should have some lunch.

It's not home because he takes his home with him.


	3. Chapter 3

They end up in a crowded little restaurant. Though there's plenty of fast food places in the area—John had that notion knocked out of him real quick, thinking they were getting away from Mcdonald’s just because they weren't in America anymore—but on the occasions that they did eat out, it was always at little tucked away places where the flavors were the best that the city they were in had to offer, and where Bane or Barsad always seem to know the proprietor. This one is no different, and Bane is greeted with only a polite nod of the head before they are seated quickly.

It isn't long before they have their heads bent over steaming bowls of thick stew and are mopping up their meal with bits of warm flatbread. They've been tucked away in a corner, almost completely cut off from the rest of the small, noisy restaurant. They use it to their advantage, and Bane holds out bits of fruit for Barsad to eat from his fingertips. It takes a little coaxing to get him to take them, to take a bite of melon and chew it slowly. When Bane nods to him, he picks up a slice of mango, holding it to Barsad's lips and moaning softly when the sweet juices are licked off of his thumb.

“That was totally on purpose,” he mumbles, feeling his cock stir when Barsad's teeth bite down lightly on the edge of his thumb. When he chuckles, his breath runs over his fingers. “If you're feeling playful...”

He slides his hand down under the table and smirks at the way Barsad's eyes widen, how he nearly yelps. John can hear the click of his teeth as his mouth snaps shut to prevent it. He cups his dick through his cargo pants, wishing the material wasn't so thick, but he can feel him anyway. He's hard, but then he has been the entire time, not fully so, but enough that John has been able to notice it if he looks for it throughout their outing. Enough that he teases him about it, now.

“How bad do you want us right now?” he whispers, even though he probably shouldn't bother in a restaurant this noisy. When Barsad doesn't answer, he squeezes his cock, making him grunt and his head thump back against the wall. “Come on.”

Bane makes an amused noise at their antics, especially when Barsad quietly mumbles out just how much he does. His eyes flick over to the crowd of the restaurant contemplatively before he touches Barsad's shoulder.

“Under the table.”

John's eyes widen in shock. “I was _teasing_ ,” he whispers harshly in protest, looking around quickly to see if anyone notices how Barsad pauses for only a moment before he slides obediently beneath the tablecloth. Bane only chuckles quietly at his very legitimate worry. His eyes close, as if he is merely enjoying a moment of relaxing after eating his meal. John hears the barely audible sound of his zipper and knows better.

“You're going to get us fucking kicked out of the _country_ ,” John mutters, unable to keep his eyes off of Bane, how his thick lips part slowly and he licks over them, the low, pleased sigh.

“I take it that you would not like to join in?” he asks, opening his eyes to look over to John, mischief in them that John is much more used to seeing in Barsad's. It's usually so much more trouble when it's in Bane’s. He starts to retort when Barsad's hand is suddenly at his crotch, fondling him through his jeans, a bit of payback for earlier no doubt, and John's hands quickly grip the edge of the table firmly as he bites back a curse.

He doesn't say no, though, because he's not an idiot. He just doesn't want them getting caught.

Barsad's hand traces over him slowly, content to just play with him through his jeans while he works on Bane. He can hear him, soft sucking noises that are easily drowned out by the rest of the din of the restaurant. Bane's hand slides under the table causally and John has no doubt that it's in Barsad's hair now, holding onto his thick brown locks tightly, pulling him down further so that Barsad swallows him down, bobs his head and takes him in more until Bane's shoulders tense, and he is breathing out heavily. John has to fucking commend him for being able to come so quietly. Or he would, anyway, if Barsad wasn't moving to him, next.

Long fingers tug on his jeans zipper, unbuttoning him gracefully, and he's fished out of his blue cotton briefs without the least bit of trouble. Barsad strokes over him slowly, sliding his lips down his cock as a fucking tease, the heat from his lips all the more noticeable after he's been busy wrapping them around Bane. When his tongue runs down him slowly, John's eyes snap shut. This was a terrible idea. Why did he agree to this? Barsad was far too playful even collared up and wanting to please. His tongue circled around the tip of his cock, lapping up and only encouraging the fluid that was starting to bead up there.

He doesn't suck, doesn't purse his lips around John like John wants. It's all open mouth kisses and hot, wet breaths ghosting down his cock, making him squirm in his seat and leaving him breathless. His hands pump him slowly, too slowly for this to end anytime soon, and they can't sit here all day. It's like he's trying to get him to make a scene. He realizes suddenly that he probably is, daring him into doing it even while his fingers stroke over his balls, as he mouths over his cock more and smears precome and spit over it.

“Fucking SUCK,” he mutters roughly, reaching under the table. Before he can get to Barsad's hair, though, he's in his mouth, the sudden scorching wet all around him, his tongue twisting at the underside of his cock. He tightens his hand into a fist and slams it down onto the seat, choking back a cry of pleasure. Asshole. He's such a fucking asshole.

So is Bane who leans in and kisses him, so light it could nearly be seen as chaste to a casual observer, if they had no idea that his other boyfriend was under the table with his dick half in his mouth and slurping contently. As it is, he grabs onto Bane's shirt for dear life to hold back a loud groan when Barsad sucks his orgasm right out of him, each sling of come that pulses out of him getting greedily swallowed up, Barsad's mouth constricting around him until he has to reach under the table and shove him away before he has him whimpering from his raw nerves.

Bane taps Barsad's shoulder lightly when he seems to decide the coast is clear, and Barsad slides back up to sit, face flushed and licking over his slick, reddened lips. He looks pent up but immensely satisfied at the same time, especially at the quiet praise Bane gives him for the act. When John shakes his head and leans in to kiss him he can taste their come on his tongue.

“I used to have a normal life, you know?” he says with a grin, kissing the tip of his nose.

“And you have never once missed it, have you?” Barsad asks, reaching to squeeze his hand for a moment.

“Not one bit.”

“I'd like to smoke,” Barsad says when they leave the restaurant. John squints to readjust to the bright sun beating down relentlessly. He thinks about the blue yarn tucked away in their bag and decides that maybe he really would like someplace cold next time.

“If you must,” Bane relents. It's a rare treat. John is kind of glad he gave up the habit a while ago when he sees how carefully Bane monitors it with Barsad. It is only on really bad days or when he's been exceptionally well behaved. Bane is the one who holds onto them. When John found them in his pocket one day, he thought that Bane was a secret smoker and had been more than a little amused. But no, Bane had explained that Barsad was too tempted when they stayed in his pocket, that he allowed the vice with the agreement that he controlled it, that Barsad needed to listen if he said no.

He rarely does, but then, Barsad rarely mentions it. It seems to be a good system for them, and John generally just avoids the smoke so that he doesn't get tempted. He's already given up enough autonomy to Bane quite happily, but he doesn't need to be asking permission to put one more thing in his mouth. There's enough of that in the bedroom. He nods his head when they slip off into an alley for it. He moves on ahead and pokes around a few more stalls in the area.

His stomach is pleasantly full, and the way the sun is bearing down has got him drowsy. He wonders if it would be stupid to ask them both if they'd just like to go back to the apartment for a nap and maybe some ties after if they've really got the whole day free, or if that would be spoiling things for them. They might like to do more things out, instead, like a movie or something.

The thoughts make him almost miss it. It's slight, just the smallest bit of offness to step of the man beside him. It's not like he hasn't seen plenty of people with weapons hidden away today. Hell, he's one of them. But he's been training, and he's learned there's just something about how someone holds themselves that always tips him off, tells him that there is some fucking trouble on its way.

When he hears the soft snick of the knife, he knows he's right.

Don't panic. It's the first lesson. Instead, he takes a breath and lets loose.

He throws a handful of spices from the stall into the eyes of his attacker just as the knife is coming for him. He hears the sharp intake of pained breath, the wheeze, and his hands come down, elbows slamming into the back of his neck, making him drop. It was way too easy, wasn't it? Of course it was, and that's why there are two more men beside him suddenly springing to action.

He twists wildly to dodge a sudden punch, a dull pain thudding through his shoulder when the blow lands there, instead. He grunts and ducks and spins around behind the man to deliver his own sharp kick to the kidneys.

Then he's running for the alley he saw Bane and Barsad go down, because he's not stupid enough to believe that that was some sort of random mugging. He can already hear the low grunts of pain before he sees them. He doesn't want to worry, but Barsad isn't exactly himself right now, and that can't be good, can it? He isn't sure how that will affect his ability to fight.

 

There are bodies on the ground. Barsad is the one standing over them, his knife bloody in his hands. His eyes are wide, though, snapped right out of his headspace even with his collar on, like it's a shock to his system. His body shivers and Bane takes the knife from him quickly, wiping is clean as John runs up to them, panting.

“They tried to get me, too.”

“Were you hurt?” Bane looks him over, eyes sharp with adrenaline and concern even as he grasps Barsad's shoulder, giving him a shake.

“No, but we need to get out of here. It was in public, and I doubt no one's called the police by now.”


	4. Chapter 4

Bane is already pulling him out past the bodies, running down the streets and alleys. He feels like a kitten getting dragged along by his shirt along with Barsad, but it keeps them together in the busy, winding back streets. He can hear sirens in the distance and wonders if people would be able to recognize him from the attack, if there's evidence on the bodies, if they're going to end up in jail, if the police here are involved in the entire thing. He's been in the league long enough to learn all about police corruption and wouldn't be surprised if the entire thing is a setup.

Barsad is completely quiet beside him, not a word spoken as their boots smack against the dirty, dusty streets, but his eyes are still off. John grabs his hand, squeezing it.

“Talia,” Barsad blurts out quickly, tone tinged with worry.

“We are going to her, lamb.”

John hadn't even thought about it. They've been out all day. Talia's been alone without them and if they were attacked... He doesn't let himself finish the thought. Not while Bane is hijacking an SUV, anyway. Talia is strong, fuck, she can take him out any day of the week. He'd once asked her why she even had bodyguards, and she had explained that it was so she could focus on negotiations rather than possible attacks; it let her clear her mind.

Tires screech and Bane's cell phone is being thrust into his hands. John's never bothered to have one because he's never without one of them around. Now he takes a shaky breath, watching the world blur through the windows as he holds the phone to his ear and listens to it connecting.

No answer. Of course. He sends a text through, instead, gripping the phone tightly and willing her to respond.

“Where is she today?”

“At a diplomat's home, discussing trade.” Bane's eyes never leave the road as he swerves sharply, with enough force to make Barsad slide over and slam John into the SUV door. He oofs and pushes him off so he can breathe.

“Are you—?”

“I will be fine once we get to Talia,” is Barsad's clipped response.

“He doesn't do well being snapped out of his headspace in such a way. It unsettles him to the core.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Barsad snarls out, and John blinks in surprise. Even when they're throwing punches, Barsad's tone is never quite that nasty to Bane. Barsad's teeth are gritted tightly and Bane spares a glance towards them from the rear view mirror as his hands grip the wheel tightly.

“I wish I could settle you now, lamb. Later.”

“M'fine,” Barsad snaps, and it's clear he's anything but, but they can't worry about it now.

There are high metal gates when they get there. It looks like a mansion, a fortress, and John wonders how they're ever going to get in if there's something wrong.

It turns out he doesn't have to worry about that. Well, about the getting inside, anyway. There is definitely something wrong, the way the blood drips out of the shattered glass of the guard's booth, the slumped figure in there, but the broken window means that Barsad can jump in and open the gate himself, taking the gun from the body inside and checking the bullets carefully.

“Should have brought my gun,” he mutters out as he drops back into the SUV, Bane speeding down the driveway, “it was stupid.”

“It was a day off.”

“There are no days _off,_ Bane,” Barsad hisses out in return, checking and rechecking the bullets in the gun.

John is already gripping his knife tightly. “I'm going in, too,” he says, ready to fight it.

“Don't be stupid, of course you are,” Barsad snaps at him, his eyes flickering with annoyance, like John is being a child and John kind of wants to both smack him for it and smile a little that it wasn't even a question that he was going to go in and help. There's no response on the phone again and as they race down the driveway, John wonders if there's some sort of plan Bane has in mind or if he's just making it up as they go.

“Brace yourself,” is his only warning from Bane as they go careening for the front door.

John grabs desperately onto the seat in front of him as he decides that, yeah, Bane's just making it up as they go.

“So much for the element of surprise,” he gasps out as they emerge from the SUV.

“They will be expecting us either way. I did not wish us picked off at the door,” Bane shouts as he shoves debris out of the way. The sounds of gunshots are ringing through the air, and Barsad snaps his head towards them, is running down the hall before John can figure out which direction they're coming from.

The house is extravagant, and John would have commented that it is tacky as hell, but he's a bit busy paying more attention to the bullet holes riddled through the walls and the blood smeared on them than on interior design. His breath catches in his throat when he sees another body, this one with a scarf tied around its neck. John starts to kneel to check for a pulse when his arm is grabbed by Barsad.

“He is long gone, don't waste your time.”

The gunshots are easy to follow, now. So is the blood, so thick on the flood that his shoe skids on it. A sudden shot blasts through the door in front of them, sending splinters of wood flying towards them.

“Fuck!” John snaps and covers his eyes.

“...John?”

Relief floods through him, reflected in Bane and Barsad's eyes. It's Talia's voice calling out uncertainly from the room where the shot was fired. Bane assures her that it is them, to try to refrain from shooting them as they run through the door to her. She is not alone, two more league members flanking her as she holds a small pistol in her hand, something John knows she keeps in her boot at all times, a throwing knife always tucked into the other.

“Nice of you to join us.” Her head jerks sharply and they're quickly ducking behind the large steel filing cabinet that has been knocked down, used as a barricade.

“You didn't answer your cell,” Bane says, and there's a shot fired out, clanging sharply into the medal cabinet from another doorway. John dares to peek around the corner of the cabinet and sees a barricade set up, the muzzle of a gun pointing out of it.

“I believe you will find it lodged into the trachea of a diplomat,” Talia replies. “Negotiations went poorly. I dislike when they try to poison me during them.”

“You are alright?” Barsad asks, concerned even as his eyes close. He's listening to the gunshots carefully. “How many are left?”

“Of course, and there are three remaining.”

“They tried to get us, too,” John tells her, and he sees how her lips purse in displeasure.

“I stayed behind to kill them for taking the life of one of our own; it seems I have all the more reason to enjoy it.”

It takes John a moment to realize that Talia was never trapped in this house, at all. There's a barricade across the other room because those men are trapped in here with _her._

“So what should we—”

He stops when Barsad stands, lifting his arm with a careful, precise movement. Three shots echo in the room and like that, it's over. He lowers the gun slowly, and Bane moves out from behind the cabinet, tearing down the walls of the makeshift barricade. John winces at the sound of snapping bone, but it wouldn't do to leave even the slightest chance. He uses the time to look over Talia. There's some blood, and when she sees his worried face she gives him a small smile, turns so he can see the deep scratch on her shoulder.

“It is nothing, but perhaps you would feel better if you bandaged it.”

The men behind her are up and out, Bane and Barsad are shouting orders, and John realizes they're doing a sweep of the house. No one is getting left out. He holds back a shudder at the thought and realizes Talia is watching him seriously.

“I'm sorry, I know why, I'm still getting used to the idea,” he admits quietly as he goes with her to a nearby bathroom, clearing it before he sits with her on the counter, carefully washing the wound.

She rests her hand over his, making him pause. “You were not born into these things. No one expects you to be like us, John.”

“But you're training me.” He doesn't look at her eyes as he rips some strips of cloth for a bandage.

“Yes, but not to change you, to use what you already possess. Your empathy in these situations is a part of you. We would not want to change it.”

“It makes me feel useless,” he admits quietly, shaking his head, “watching them run off and being back here.”

“You are still training; I have no doubt you will be running off with them soon enough,” she says, closing her eyes when he winds the bandages around her arm. “For now, I enjoy you here.”

“Do you?” he can't help but ask. She has always treated him kindly, but he sometimes can't help but wonder if it's for their sake. He doesn't exactly bring much to the table, and he's an intruder as far as he's concerned, taking time away from her and her brothers.

Her lips brush against his forehead, surprising him with a gentle kiss. She smoothes his damp locks away from his forehead as she says, “Of course, little brother. You make me happy, and you make my brothers happy. Even without the potential we see in you, I would be content with your place with us.”

She oofs slightly when he wraps her up in a tight hug, leaving her bandaged arm out of it. He's learning that near-death experiences make him a bit more emotional. Who knew? She pats his back and their heads turn when they hear footsteps by the door. Bane is there, his face serious and streaked with dirt and blood, but his eyes soften at the display.

“The house is clear, sister.”

“Good. We will have the apartment cleared out of our belongings.”

“Barsad is already making the proper calls,” Bane says. “The plane will be ready in a few hours.” He pauses a moment before speaking softly, “He is in a foul temperament.”

“He had to snap out of his comfortable space quickly,” Talia easily guesses.

“It's happened before?” John asks and Bane nods.

“Once or twice. It is an unfortunate shock to his system, the world crashing back in like a tsunami. In his headspace, he is calm because he thinks the world is safe... because he trusts me to keep it safe. Then suddenly it is not and he must fight again.” Bane shakes his head and there's guilt lining his face, the scar across his lips more pronounced when he presses them together.

“You cannot control the entire world,” Talia says, touching his hand lightly. “He _is_ safe with you. Safety does not mean there is never trouble. It means that you, all of us, will make it through that trouble because we are together.”

Bane nods, but it's clear that it doesn't completely ease whatever guilt he's feeling. John can't blame him. Barsad looked so shaken up. He flexes his hands slightly before touching Talia's cheek.

“Take Kojo and John with you. We will meet you at the plane.”

John shakes his head. “I want to be there with you. I might not be in charge like you are, but you can't act like I'm not a part of it, too.”

“Of course you are, my boy,” Bane quickly agrees and John's cheeks heat up at the endearment in front of Talia, “I only wished to be sure you get to the safety of the plane.”

“Barsad isn't the only one safe with you.”


	5. Chapter 5

That settles it. The area is secure and arrangements are made. Talia places a gentle kiss to Bane's cheek, then another to John's before she leaves, leading the men out behind her without hesitation. It takes them a few minutes to find Barsad. Apparently, with the fight in the alley, he'd never given his pack of cigarettes back to Bane. Now he is standing outside leaning against the brick wall just beside the open gates, several crushed out cigarette butts on the ground beside him, another nearly crushed in the tight grip between his fingers. One of his legs is bent back, foot against the wall as his eyes flick over to them both as soon as he hears them and he rolls his shoulders, trying to appear loose, casual.

His throat is bare, his scarf tied tightly around his arm, his collar out of sight. His voice is cautious, stubborn. “You did not say that I couldn't smoke them if I had them on me, still.”

“I did not,” Bane agrees, and he walks over to the wall beside him. Barsad subtly shifts away, grinding out his stub of cigarette against the brick before he flicks it away. “Where is it?”

John watches as Barsad's eyes flicker, his jaw clenching for a moment. “I got rid of it.”

“Lam—”

“Don't,” Barsad grates out harshly, “we are done with this game.”

“ _This,”_ Bane says firmly, “is no game.” His hand goes to Barsad's shoulder and it's not an attack, it's not a scuffle like when he's fighting Bane tooth and nail for submission. This is Barsad twisting away and shrinking back so that he can escape. Run.

Bane doesn't let him. He digs his fingers into his jacket and yanks him back, tight against him, wraps his arms around his chest so Barsad's back is secure against his own chest as he swears and fights to get away. It's not the submission holds he's seen Barsad put through before. This isn't like any of those. This is tender, comforting, and Barsad fights it all the more, his body wound up so tightly, his knuckles a striking white from his clenched fists, deep growling breaths through his gritted teeth, his jaw clamped shut.

It's probably such a dumb idea to come up and take hold of his hands, to feel all of that tightness and tension in his fingers, but he can't just watch. Barsad looks like he's going to snap any moment, and not in a way that means Bane can put him back together. He looks like he's filled with self-loathing, and John can't stand it any more than Bane can.

“Barsad, just stop.” John has to practically pry his hands open, forces his own fingers to lace between his and squeezes them, feels the shake in them now, the shiver that quakes through Barsad's frame as Bane holds him, rubs his hand slowly up and down his chest as he leans down to hum a soft, soothing noise by his ear. “It's over, now. Everyone's ok.”

“You don't understand. You don't understand _this_ ,” Barsad argues, and John snorts, laying his head against the crook of his neck when he's sure Barsad isn't going to attack him for it. There's a tremor under his skin, sweat and dust and maybe some blood, but John ignores that, kisses there anyway.

“You think I don't understand this? Where the fuck have you been?”

“It's not the same,” Barsad argues. He's struggling, still, but less so, he's already fought so much today, Bane, the collar, their enemies, he's got nothing left and it's not just exhaustion. He doesn't want to fight. John lets go of his fingers and when he does, Barsad's arms are around him, grabbing him up so he's being held in his grip, so tight it borders on painful, but not after a day like today. Now John just holds onto him just as much. “You don’t—You aren't giving up as much as I am when you're under for us.”

“Thanks, asshole. What, you think this is easy for me just because I don't try to break Bane's ribs every time?” He pinches his side a little as he says it with a scoff.

“It—”

John cuts him off, pressing his forehead against Barsad's. “You really think it’s not hard for me? I've never trusted anyone with what I let you both do to me. I don't feel the same need to fight Bane tooth and nail for it, but that doesn't mean we're so different.”

Barsad's hand comes up to cradle the back of his head. “But we _are._ I need this, and it makes me weak. It made it so she could have been hurt.” His voice goes rougher at the thought and he sounds pained. “What if she had died because I was taking up Bane's time, because I wasn't able to be strong enough?”

“Lamb.” Bane's tone is full of disapproval, and Barsad winces at it but shakes his head.

“It's true. This time in our lives needs to draw to a close.  I don't _need_ this, and you have John for it—”

The rough squeeze of Bane pulling Barsad even more tightly against him knocks the wind out of his lungs, takes his words from him.

“Enough,” Bane says, and his voice it rougher, too, his fingers not entirely steady when he draws his hand up to Barsad's throat, making him gasp as he squeezes it in a light grip. “You are being a very selfish lamb.”

Barsad barks out a bitter laugh at that. “Perhaps, for the first time, I am not being selfish, at all.”

“You are being very selfish if you think that you are the only one who benefits from our play, that cutting it off effects only you, that I would not be just as lost without your submission to me.”

Barsad shakes his head. “I can't… I can't put her in danger, anymore. I am a _risk_ when I let myself go.”

“You are never a risk, Barsad,” Bane says. His hand leaves his throat to grip his hair, giving it a sharp yank and making him grunt, twist in their hold. “What happened, my lamb, when those men came at us, ready to slit our throats? Who first saw them?”

“I did, and I should have taken them out in moments, their blood should have run from my fingertips before you even knew they were there, and instead I did nothing.”

“You did not do _nothing,”_ Bane corrects. “What did you do?”

Barsad answer is quiet. “I touched you, alerted you.”

“Why?”

“Because I knew you would know what to do.”

“And did I know what to do?”

“You should not have needed to do anything! I should not have needed you to have to order me to kill them, like some new recruit who has never had blood on their hands.”

John shakes his head. “That's not the important part. The important part was that you trusted Bane; you did exactly what you're supposed to do, inside and outside of your head space. You're just spooked, but you did everything right.”

Barsad closes his eyes, and John knows he's exactly right, that spooked is precisely what Barsad is, over how his reactions were different in a time of crisis, but John and Bane both know they're right, that Barsad didn't do anything wrong, anything that could have gotten one of them hurt.

“Don't try to take this from us, Barsad.” John kisses the tip of his nose. “And don't try to take it from yourself by being a stubborn shit.”

Barsad laughs harshly and tilts his head to kiss him, some of the tension leaving him before he speaks, “You are one to talk.”

“Yeah.” He smirks and shares a glance with Bane, stands on his toes to reach past Barsad and kiss him. This isn't completely settled, but the self-loathing has left Barsad's eyes, and his body feels less tight pressed between them. Bane's lips slot against his, warm and soothing after all of the tension, and his hand reaches to rub across his neck. It reminds him of something and he pulls back to look at Barsad again.

“Where'd you put it?”

That has Barsad looking away again quickly and John surprises himself by grabbing up his chin, jerking it back to face him. Barsad is equally surprised, drawing in a sharp breath. They're so close that John can see how his pupils dilate slightly.

“You like that?” He breathes out the words smoothly, bites at the soft curve of his bottom lip and Barsad struggles in Bane's grip suddenly, ready to fight. He's never had it directed at him, before, and as seriously scary as the thought is, he can't deny the thrill it sends through him. Barsad is tired, has already been put down once, today. He entertains the notion of wondering if he could ever actually beat him enough to get him to submit.

He'd rather not get something broken today, though. Instead, while Barsad struggles, John looks around the area carefully, thinks back to where exactly they've been through the house, where Barsad has been, trying to deduce where Barsad might have tossed it out, hidden it, thinking he maybe put it in their bag with the yarn Bane bought to knit with.

Then he chuckles suddenly, the yarn reminding him of all of Barsad's scarves, the few threadbare ones in the drawer that still never leave, are never tossed out. Barsad's collar didn't go anywhere, because Barsad could never throw a gift from Bane away, no matter how much he thinks he would like to. John's hands grab onto Barsad's hips and he can't help but wink at him, the frustrated noise that leaves him as John slides his hands down his pants, feeling through the many different pockets for the familiar leather.

“You wouldn't throw away your pretty little collar from Bane, would you?”

The sudden glare, the slight bulge in one of Barsad's pockets confirms it and he fishes it out easily, tightly coiled up but no worse for wear. He looks up at Bane, not sure if he's going too far, but he'd like to do this, if he can, and Bane's head inclines slightly, a silent permission given when he understands John's question.

Barsad nearly snarls when he realizes John's intention, eyes locking on his fingers as he unwinds the collar. “I will rip you into pieces,” he swears, and he's fighting Bane's grip again.

“None of that, lamb,” Bane scolds mildly. “You have fought so much today, are so worn. Let this go for us.”

He can't, and they both know that, but he can fight less. Especially when Bane is holding him more tenderly than any submission hold has a right to be, when John rubs his chest patiently, feeling his heavy panting as the fight seeps out of him, as he sags in Bane's grip after only a few moments. He nods. He wants to be be able to go back into his headspace. He just needs to be assured that everything is ok, that it's ok to want it.

John touches his throat cautiously and smiles when it's bared back for him. He's careful, remembering how Bane checks for tightness with them, sliding a finger under the collar to make sure Barsad can breathe properly as he buckles it shut. Barsad hums softly, his eyes closing, and John kisses him, happy to accept the eager kisses he gets in return.

“You're alright?” he asks quietly against his mouth, and there's hesitation, Barsad taking a moment to carefully gauge, before he nods.

“Good... Because I want to blow you right here,” John whispers, and Bane chuckles quietly.

“You are fortunate that the plane won't leave without us,” he says, and that's clearly an approval, and so is how he holds Barsad's wrists carefully, not letting him slide down his pants like he'd clearly like to. “Go slowly with him, tease our lamb as much as he teased you earlier.”

Right. The restaurant seems like it happened weeks ago with the events of the day, but he does in fact have some payback to deliver.  The gravel of the driveway bites into his knees when he carefully drops down, nuzzling at Barsad's crotch, feeling the thick material press against his lips when Barsad squirms at the sudden attention. They're not exactly in the most private of areas, but if Bane thought they weren't safe he wouldn't be letting him guide Barsad's dick out of his pants, wouldn't be watching as Barsad swallows eagerly and watches how John licked his lips.

He keeps his eyes cast up, enjoying how Barsad practically wriggles when he wraps his hand around the base of his cock and slides him into his mouth. His fingers clench and unclench as John purses his lips around him, sucks slowly, luridly enough that it reaches Barsad's ears and he moans out, head lying back on Bane's shoulder. When John teases with his tongue, playfully blows puffs of warm air onto his spit-slick length, Barsad shifts from foot to foot restlessly, mouth dropping open. John can't see it from his position but he's sure his eyes are dazed, that clouded look of when he's able to just let go slowly coming over his face.

That's what John wants. He wants Barsad to be able to let go, and if he has to tease him until he begs to get it, well, that's just an advantage. He smirks with his mouth full at the thought, savoring the weight of Barsad's cock against his tongue, the hot, smooth skin sliding against his lips as he tastes him, licks up the underside of him even as he starts to slowly pump his hand, happy when he's got him to full hardness, when Barsad's hips start twitching into his fist in earnest, trying to fuck into it.

He pins his hip down against Bane instead and earns a quiet, displeased noise. Bane says something low against his ear and Barsad is tilting his head so that John can see his eyes, so that while he sweeps his tongue over him, slurps and sucks and tastes him, he can watch the beautiful blue in those eyes start to shrink away as his pupils blow with need, as he finally realizes that John is going to keep him at his edge and play with his cock with tortuously slow strokes of his tongue, and he tries to struggle in their grip, not to get away, but to get more touch, more friction on his dick.

“John, _John_.” His name is nothing but a low whine in Barsad's chest after a while, something he repeats again and again as Bane's fingers hook into his collar and pull it tighter against his throat, then he's gasping, writhing in their hold and John has to force him to still so his cock doesn't bump the back of his throat and set off his gag reflex.

John slides him out of his mouth and pants for air, hearing it echoed above him, labored from being teased, from having his breathing constricted, but he's still begging softly with how his body is curved, how his cock is so red and heavy in John's grip. It's been a hard day, and he has to be aching to come. John could be merciful and jerk him off with a few quick strokes, let him go.

He grips his cock tighter and slowly slides him back into his mouth, savoring all of the needy whines, the low, pleased chuckle Bane gives.

“Perhaps you will remember this when you work him up and tease him as you are wont to do?” he asks lightly, and Barsad doesn't reply, only bites down on his lip and John can feel how he's shaking. He rubs from his hip to his thigh, feeling the faint tremor there, the heated skin and the cut of Barsad's zipper against the palm of his hand.

He slides him back out of his mouth and licks over his swollen lips, his voice rough. “You want to come for us?”  John cracks a small smile at the eager whine in response and relents, “Alright, alright.” He leaves a trail of sucking kisses up Barsad's length. “Come on, come for me,” he encourages, stroking his hand down him quickly, squeezing around him in rough little pulses that he knows Barsad likes. “Come on.”

Bane releases his hands, and they immediately snap down to cling to his arms, his hips rocking forward as he comes, seed spilling out of him and onto the gravel below. John doesn't let up, listens to the content noises leaving Barsad and licks up a bit of the bitter come that clings to the tip of him before he tucks him back in, stands up and feels the slight ache in his knees.

Bane's hand tucks under Barsad's shirt to rub the bare skin of his belly in slow, calming circles as he catches his breath. After, he takes the scarf from around his arm and carefully settles it back around his neck, hiding away his collar. They don't talk about the few minutes after that they both spend just giving Barsad some hugs, some soothing pats. It's been a rough day for everyone.

Eventually, Bane reminds them that they have a plane to catch, and Barsad ends up between them as they find transportation, making their way to an airplane that is by no stretch of the word legal.

John is relieved and a little embarrassed to see all of their things there, down in the cargo hold where they're told to settle in with Talia for a long flight, including his small box containing his own collar. Bane sees him eying it and his eyes are questioning, making John feel a slight flush of warmth in his cheeks.

It's a quick trip to the plane's bathroom, three bodies are nearly impossible to fit, hell, Bane alone shouldn't be able to fit, but they aren't going to leave Barsad alone as Bane slides the collar onto John's neck and he sighs out, leaning against them both, smiling a little at Barsad wrapping his arms around him and sharing a kiss before Bane holds out a jacket for him, something to keep him warm in the cargo hold and to be zipped up over his collar, tucking it out of sight.

They settle down beside Talia, who smiles at him, not at all fooled by the jacket or by Barsad's scarf. He resists the urge to duck his head, instead settling down on the pile of surplus blankets that have been left down there for them. It takes some arranging until it's just right, Talia leaning against Bane's shoulder, with John nestled in close to Bane on the other side, greedily stealing his warmth as he runs his fingers along Barsad's scalp as he lies out pillowed against his lap.

“We're really going someplace colder?”

“Yes,” Talia answers, “and not an apartment this time. One might call it our base of operations. I suspect we will be spending a good length of time there, this time. It will feel good to have our feet in one place at least for a little while.”

“Yeah? Can we get a blender this time, then? I kind of miss making you all smoothies,” he admits sheepishly. It sounded silly, but the idea fills him with nostalgia even though it truly hadn't been so long again.

Bane laughs softly and his big hand is nice and warm when it squeezes his shoulder. “We will be drinking them in the ice and snow.”

“If they freeze, we can make them into icicles,” Barsad says quietly, eyes closed contently and a small smile on his lips.

“I will see about a blender,” Talia promises, sounding entertained by them all. John reaches across Bane to squeeze her hand quietly as a thank you before he lets himself settle down under Bane's hold with Barsad and rest, content to call this new place he was being taken to ‘home’ as long as they were with him.


End file.
